


To You I Bestow

by Emelye



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Humor, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can only assume you’re constantly bringing up the Shire because you’re eager for me to return to it. Or am I to believe after battling to reclaim your mountain you’re longing for a place you visited once for just over twelve hours nearly a year ago?”</p><p>Thorin hung his head and ran two large hands through the curtain of hair obscuring his face. “And if I were?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Salvia_G](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G) for her invaluable editorial skills and to D for the vote of confidence and finding me a title.

Wait a minute now, I'll see you when I come back  
I could be sharing someone else's pillow  
And my love for you is better than diamonds  
To you, everything I bestow  
And tomorrow, I'll be dancin' on my own  
And I'll need a kiss for my head that's achin'  
And I'll be a hungry dog without a bone  
Hoping my place with you's not taken  
Kiss me and tell me it's not broken  
Kiss me and kiss me 'til I'm dead  
See, I give you the stars from the bruised evening sky  
And a crown of jewels for your head now  
For your head now  
For your head now  
For your head  
One last night in bed for a time  
And two more wishes and both are for thine  
And three guesses, you're the angel's child  
Four hopes that this love's not spoiled  
Kiss me and tell me it's not broken  
Kiss me… “To You I Bestow” - Mundy

 

 

The snow thawed, the ice broke and the mountain warmed with the lighting of the forges. Durin’s Folk returned to Erebor. The halls and chambers filled with treasure and bones were cleared and polished until they reflected golden torchlight bright as day. It was a warm, snug place to wait out the winter, and far more to a Hobbit’s liking than the silent scent of death and decay which lay upon Erebor like a shroud in the early days after Smaug.

Bilbo Baggins made himself useful to Ori in the royal library, to Balin in the guild halls, to Gloin in the treasury (though only the once), but mostly he found himself at the right hand of Thorin. As always, Bilbo lent himself to the fight against the tide of responsibility cresting upon the royal head with determination, resolve and limited results. 

Thorin was still in bandages when Balin, with deepest regret, brought forth the crown to place upon his blood and battle stained brow. Bilbo watched from Thorin’s bedside as he once again pledged his fealty to his people and the mountain while still struggling to breathe against his broken ribs. Only moments thereafter he was brought quill and ink and had but rarely put them down since. 

There was no time for joyous reunions with the company following the battle. Oin was ever present in the early days to tend to Thorin’s wounds, but when he was satisfied Thorin would live, there were others more seriously injured to tend to. Gloin had the unenviable task of organizing the guild masters and making an accounting of Erebor’s obscene wealth that it might be divided fairly. Bombur, meanwhile, was head of the kitchens, and feeding the armies of men, elves, and dwarves who assisted them was no small matter. Dwalin organized a guard for the King, conscripted soldiers into duty, worked to establish order and generally attempted to make opportunistic crime impractical for would-be thieves and brigands. To this end, Nori was of great assistance and could be found at Dwalin’s side more often than not. Ori had taken himself off to the library and was little seen outside its walls again. Dori, Bofur and Bifur, all active within their respective guilds, were occupied with establishing their place as masters. 

Meanwhile, Thorin concerned himself with matters of state, ably assisted by Balin, his nephews and Bilbo himself. New treaties with the elves and men were drawn and redrawn. Trade was established with eastern kingdoms, the Iron Hills, the Blue Mountains and even the Shire. Dale was to be rebuilt and Thorin lent himself and Erebor to the aide of Bard and the people of Esgaroth. 

And when the treaties were signed and the aide pledged, there were then constant disputes over trade, over land, and over aide to see to. Thorin, needled by constant missives from the lords of men, elves and dwarves demanding more than was their right, breaking faith over the price of goods, grew sharper and quicker to anger with Balin and his nephews. For what could anyone do? The mountain, for all it’s wealth, could not sustain itself without trade, and Thorin would never dare threaten to bring the might of his military against anyone so soon after such a costly battle.

Thus, despite his best efforts, the royal head hung lower than it used to, his shoulders weighed down beneath his unrelenting burden. Bilbo felt quite useless. Thorin’s eyes were constantly shadowed from lack of sleep. (Though how anyone could find rest in that cavernous, gilded hall they called a royal suite, Bilbo had no idea.) When Fili suggested to Bilbo he ought to invite Thorin to tea, he thought it odd until Thorin removed his cloak. Bilbo realized how frail and wan he’d become, and resolved to do his part to ensure Thorin kept up his strength. But no matter their efforts, it was abundantly clear Thorin found no joy in his hardwon role.

It wore upon Bilbo’s mind as they met in his chambers at Thorin’s request (“The royal suite is far too large to serve any purpose but to remind me of my office!”) Bilbo laid their customary tea: the smoky, peaty blend favored by Thorin, jam tarts, a bit of cheese, a few sliced, boiled eggs, and (as a special surprise) two steamed artichokes from the Shire’s first harvest, newly arrived with the morning’s caravan. 

If Thorin had seemed dismissive once, even disdainful, of Bilbo’s home; he was now its champion _in extremis_. He could be heard remarking at every meal they shared, “Bilbo, did you not serve something similar in the Shire, though far more delectable?” At their daily tea, “How I admire how you keep your rooms! Hobbits do, as ever, know how to make a house feel homely.” When Thorin remarked upon one of Bilbo’s new brocade waistcoats, it was all Bilbo could do to keep him from his source lest the kingdom find themselves at audience with a King more suited to a Proudfoot family reunion than the rule of a mighty, dwarven kingdom.

It was such a change from the rhapsodic longing for the mountain he’d accustomed himself to over their long journey, he wondered if his host was not attempting to induce homesickness in hopes of prompting Bilbo to leave! Why, upon their arrival, Bilbo’s own chambers had been the subject of a lengthy monologue of their own. (“This suite of rooms was built by King Thror for the queen, though it was not until my brother Frarin was born that they saw use. You’ll note the carvings are some of the most splendid in all of Erebor, depicting the awakening of Durin. It has been long since I’ve seen craftsmanship to rival the relief upon your mantle.”) The carvings were indeed as splendid as Thorin had said. Perhaps he was offended that much of the relief was now obscured by the bundles of thyme and rosemary drying there. If it was his desire to give Bilbo’s rooms to a worthy dwarf, he could hardly blame him with space in the mountain now at a premium. But it puzzled him that Thorin would think of hurrying him along. Now that the snow was all but gone, travel to the Shire was much safer to attempt for a lone Hobbit and his plans to return home had been laid for weeks.

The heavy knock and groan of Bilbo’s opening door sounded. Thorin considerately removed his boots at the entry and hung his cloak upon the peg beside the door.

“I will never, as long as I live, understand why the King must formally witness every guild’s resolution of dispute! If the resolution is agreeable to both parties, then for Mahal’s sake, let it stand and leave me out of it!”

Bilbo hummed sympathetically as he poured. “But then they would need to schedule an audience for the opportunity to curry favor. And how dreadfully tiresome would it be to have a parade through the throne room at all hours simply because you refused to listen to them squabble like children for an hour every month or so?”

Thorin laughed softly, deep in his chest. Bilbo swallowed past the fluttering of his heart. “How true,” Thorin conceded. “Your experience of your relatives, no doubt?”

Bilbo flushed a bit. “My cousin, the Thain, uses our Summer Market for a similar purpose, as do I. With the possible exception of my cousin Lobelia, most tenants and relations are satisfied to resolve their disagreements on a large stage once a year rather than airing them continuously at my doorstep.”

“That does sound restful. This Lobelia Sackville-Baggins sounds as if she would be quite at home in the jeweler’s guild.”

Bilbo snorted. “You’ve no idea. But enough about meddlesome relations. There was a wagon from the Shire this morning, and I found these beauties in among the nettles and rhubarb. Look!”

Bilbo pulled the lid off the tray. A billow of steam rose from the bright green artichokes, a bowl of melted butter between them. 

“Artichokes? You ought to begin considering which titles you’d like to hold,” Thorin said, tearing off a tender, green leaf and dipping it into the butter. 

Bilbo laughed and began to dismantle his own thistle. “I’d no idea dwarves were so fond of anything green.”

Thorin moaned around his mouthful of the nutty, buttery flesh. “Well clearly you’d never asked their opinions on artichokes because I can quite assure you they are prized among us. Much like Hobbits and their mushrooms,” he added. 

Bilbo nodded sagely and for a long while they were lost in the repast. When the artichokes were gone and the rest of the tea between them, Bilbo lit his pipe and offered it to Thorin. 

“Not a patch on your Longbottom leaf, but welcome all the same,” he replied. 

Bilbo shook his head at Thorin. “If you’re attempting to turn my feet faster toward home, I can assure you I’ll be gone within the month. There’s no need for all that.”

Thorin looked thunderstruck and nearly dropped the pipe. “Who said anything about leaving?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “I can only assume you’re constantly bringing up the Shire because you’re eager for me to return to it. Or am I to believe after battling to reclaim your mountain you’re longing for a place you visited once for just over twelve hours nearly a year ago?”

Thorin hung his head and ran two large hands through the curtain of hair obscuring his face. “And if I were?” he replied.

Bilbo barked an incredulous laugh. “Well, you’re welcome to return with me.”

Thorin looked up at his face with troubling sincerity. “Do you truly mean it?”

Bilbo frowned and moved to seat himself on the cushioned bench beside Thorin. “What’s going on? Truthfully now, let’s have it.”

Thorin turned away from Bilbo for a moment to stare into the fire. “Fili would make a good king, don’t you think? He’s quite taken with Bard’s eldest. And it’s only a matter of time before Kili works up the courage to tell me of his betrothal to the she-elf.”

“Thorin, I don’t understand what you’re driving at. Are you ill in some way? Have you been concealing a grave injury?”

Thorin turned to face him. “I’m weary of rule, Bilbo. I believed that ruling here, as King under the Mountain would somehow be less trying than leading a people in exile. But there’s so little difference as to be no difference at all—save that perhaps I have more to account for in my days and no one with whom I can share the burden. Of all my company, I have my sister-sons and yourself on whom I can rely. They are as occupied as I these days. And you are leaving.

“I am not a young dwarf, Bilbo. If I had perished on the battlefield, it would have been a fitting end. I’ve led my people through dragonfire, scarcity and famine and I’ve led them to prosperity again. I’ve led my people since I was forced from my home by the sickness of my grandfather and now that I am returned, I still cannot say that I have come home. I am not the same dwarf I once was. And I fear I never shall be again.”

Bilbo recalled the moment he resolved himself to the quest in that it was a moment nearly without thought in its entirety. One instant he was looking out his window, and the next, he was running to meet the company. He felt a similar aversion to deeper contemplation now.

“We’ll need to speak to Fili and Balin straight away. I’ll send word to my Brandybuck cousins to have the house aired before we arrive. There’s land a bit to the east if you’d like your own smial but I have rooms enough until then.”

Thorin’s smile, unseen since the battle, was benediction enough upon their adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The casual comfort with which Thorin moved in Bilbo’s space stirred a fierce longing within him, though it was absurd to think on. What more could he possibly long for than what he already had?

“Absolutely not!”

“Balin, if Uncle wishes to go, you cannot force him to stay,” argued Fili.

Bilbo’s sitting room echoed with the bellows of dwarves. “We understand that it may take time. Thorin is willing to wait as long as it takes to formally abdicate his throne,” Bilbo added.

Balin pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Laddie. There is no process for abdication because it is expressly forbidden in dwarven law. Thorin is the heir of Durin himself. It is not just a matter of process, it’s a matter of grave blasphemy.”

“Dis is no less an heir of Durin! Fili is still in the line of kings!” Thorin shouted.

“And you would do that to him, hmm? Saddle him with the rule of Erebor when he’s known nothing of life at court?”

“I was younger than he when I fought at Azanulbizar!” Thorin shouted, rising to his feet.

“And at that tender age, you were the son of a king, raised by kings to know the life of a king! Fili, for all he shares your blood, is as much a king as Bofur!” Balin shouted back.

“Enough!” bellowed Fili. “Balin, I’ll thank you to remember whom you’re speaking to. And for the record, while I may have been whelped in the Blue Mountains, my mother and Uncle did not raise me to be entirely ignorant of my duty.”

“Are you mad?” asked Balin. “Think of this, then: the madness in your blood. The madness of the gold that nearly destroyed your uncle, the dragon sickness in your great-grandfather that brought this entire kingdom to it’s knees. I know not through what power your uncle broke free of it’s thrall and therefore cannot guarantee you will remain immune to it’s lure. What of the safety of this kingdom?”

Thorin stayed Fili’s heated response with a look and a gentling hand upon his shoulder. “And what of the stability of the kingdom when I am dead? Will Fili be any less susceptible? Will any of you?”

“Would Gandalf know? He did warn us off entering the mountain without him before,” Bilbo suggested.

Thorin glowered. “I suspect the wizard knows a great deal, but what he will share may be another matter.”

Balin appeared to seize on the opportunity. “I believe Gandalf may still be encamped in Dale. I will send word to him. In the meanwhile, I would strongly urge you to reconsider. _You are a good king_ , Thorin. Your people love you.”

Balin left and Thorin sank heavily into Bilbo’s chair. Bilbo was lost for words. He busied himself putting the kettle back on the fire. “You’re going to stay.”

“I am going to stay,” agreed Thorin. He looked up from his hands. “I know I cannot ask it of you, but I must. Please, will you stay?”

Bilbo pulled the kettle off the fire as it began to sing and poured into the pot on the table between them. “For how long?”

Thorin looked pained. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve done a fair job of neglecting my responsibilities to join this quest, I’m not sure I can forgivably abandon them forever.”

Thorin nodded. “No, of course not.”

Bilbo considered what would be required of him to stay. Certainly he’d need to set his business affairs in order. He’d want his things with him or kept safely with trusted relatives. “Do you suppose Balin would allow you a holiday? Perhaps give Fili a chance to spread his wings a bit. If I am to stay, I’ll need to return to the Shire, if only to keep my land out of my cousin’s hands.”

Thorin brightened. “How could he object?”

A knock came at the door. It was an odd hour for visitors as nearly the entire company knew of his daily tea with Thorin. Bilbo opened the door and found Kili on the other side. 

“Kili, what is it?” Asked Thorin. 

“Is it true you’re running away with Bilbo?” 

Thorin sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. 

Kili continued, “Well, Fili said you were, and he’s gone and betrothed himself to Sigrid.”

“I knew he was taking this too well,” muttered Bilbo. 

“So you _are_ leaving.” said Kili.

“No!” Thorin said. “Not immediately. Not for good. Bilbo has graciously agreed to stay. And I shall accompany him to the Shire to retrieve his belongings and set his affairs in order. After which I shall return. At which time, should I learn anyone has married _anyone_ without my express permission, I shall be very, _very_ , cross. Do I make myself clear?”

Kili swallowed. “Yes, Uncle.”

“Good. Don’t looks so distressed. What’s a few months to an elf?”

Kili flushed and muttered. “Long enough when they’re with child.”

Bilbo dropped the kettle. “What?”

Thorin took a deep breath. “Forgive me, but I understood that elves only procreate with their spouses.”

“They do, yes.”

“So Thranduil’s guard has found a worthy male among her people?”

“Not as such, no.”

“That is very curious, Kili.”

“Curious, Uncle?”

“Mmm. Curious indeed, for I understand that elves consider the act of love itself to be their wedding, though I have heard no talk among the men of Dale that any had wed an elf. Nor have I received word of a dwarvish ceremony which I may attend and bestow my blessing upon the happy couple. Wouldn’t you say that is curious?”

Kili sweat profusely on Bilbo’s threshold. “Well, you see, Uncle, the thing of it is, that, I may have, that is, wed. Tauriel. The elf.”

There was a vein on the side of Thorin’s forehead that had begun to pulse menacingly. “Your mother is still a fortnight from arriving in Erebor.”

“I am aware,” replied Kili. 

“I was considering accompanying Bilbo to the Shire.”

“I was aware of that as well.”

“And while I could perhaps leave stewardship in Fili’s hands for the duration, I cannot leave the kingdom in his hands without an heir. For you see, when your mother arrives, she will surely kill you, and then what should happen to Erebor should the worst befall Fili or myself while I am gone?”

“I believe succession would fall to Cousin Dain?”

Thorin surged forward and only Bilbo’s hand on his arm prevented him throttling his nephew where he stood. “Thorin, don’t kill him,” said Bilbo. 

Thorin relented and propelled Kili into the room. “Sit down while we decide what’s to be done with you!”

Bilbo retrieved the kettle from the floor, most of the water already absorbed into the stone. He refilled it from the tap beside the fire, then replaced it on the hook above the fire. 

Kili began to open the lid on the small teapot. “Is there any tea left—ouch!” Kili cried out as Bilbo rapped the back of his hand with a rather heavy ladle.

“You’ve no sense at all, have you?” Bilbo lamented. “Not a single wit rolling around in that great, empty gourd you employ as a head! I’m sure you and Tauriel had a lovely time and now you’re to be a father. Have you given even the slightest consideration to your future? The future of your wife and child? Where on earth will you live? That child is now the heir to the Kingdom of Erebor! A half elf-half dwarf infant. It’s likely to have more resemblance to my fey Took cousins than a dwarven prince! And nevermind the fallout from the dwarf lords who’ll now be baying for your uncle’s blood for excluding them from a royal wedding of no greater formality than two tweens in a haymow! Well don’t just sit there gawping like a fish, answer for yourself!”

Kili’s wide eyes turned to his uncle. Thorin remained silent. Kili looked back to Bilbo. “I—I thought we might live...here?”

Bilbo threw the ladle at him. Kili dodged it but only just. “HERE? Where’s here? My rooms? In the kitchens with the cat?”

“NO! No, just, in my rooms, or well, not in my rooms, I only have room for the two of us, but if there’s a suite left—”

“Perhaps it has escaped your notice among the rest of the petty demands of the lords of Erebor, but there _are_ no more rooms,” Thorin reminded his nephew. Kili muttered something indistinct beneath his breath. “What was that?”

“I said, there would be if Bilbo shared yours.”

Bilbo flushed several shades of red at once. He’d not realized he’d moved until he felt Thorin’s hand on his arm. 

“Bilbo, don’t kill him,” said Thorin.

“It’s _out of the question_!” Shouted Bilbo. 

Kili nodded and with a briefly apologetic look at Thorin, bolted. The door slammed behind him.

Bilbo retrieved the kettle from the fire. 

“Those leaves won’t take another brewing,” Thorin observed.

Bilbo sighed ruefully. “Neither of us really ought to drink more or we’ll never sleep.”

Thorin waved him off. “You keep the chamomile in this tin, yes?” He asked, retrieving said tin from the mantle. “This will suit.”

The casual comfort with which Thorin moved in Bilbo’s space stirred a fierce longing within him, though it was absurd to think on. What more could he possibly long for than what he already had? Had any two men ever shared a closer companionship?

Unbidden he was reminded of his cousin Adelbert and immediately shut that extremely unhelpful line of thinking down. The friendship they shared was enough for anyone. _Would_ be enough for Bilbo for all the years to come.

“It really isn’t out of the question,” Thorin said, apropos of nothing. “What would the alternative be, after all, sending him and the babe to live in the forest?”

Bilbo, distracted by his own thoughts, picked up the thread of conversation in a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous, I couldn’t possibly.”

“So we are returned to the prospect of you leaving.”

Bilbo ached to see to disappointment just beneath the polite, diplomatic smile Thorin wore to greet the wives of his counsel. “Please don’t look at me like that,” Bilbo said. He poured out the chamomile and stared into the fire over his own cup. “We must be practical. Kili has seen to that,” he added ruefully. “Balin was right though. You _are_ a good king. And, difficult though it may be, I think you will weather my leaving just fine. Though you really _must_ take care of yourself.”

Thorin sighed into his cup. “It wouldn’t be polite to undo all your efforts, I suppose.”

“Certainly not,” Bilbo agreed placidly. It wouldn’t do for Thorin to know his thoughts were not on cakes and tea, but ice and blood.

“Would you consider remaining as a guest in my apartment? Only until you depart, of course.”

Bilbo knew he ought to refuse. “Of course I will. I imagine the prince and his bride will want to be settled as soon as possible.”

Thorin let out an undignified snort. “At the very least, it shall be entertaining to observe Kili attempting to bring Tauriel into life at court.”

Bilbo laughed a little cruelly. “Oh, Eru, _the wedding_. It will be ghastly.”

Thorin laughed outright at that. “I’m not sure who I will pity more when Dis finally arrives, Kili or Tauriel.”

Bilbo raised an arch eyebrow. “So you _do_ know her name.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “She is beloved of my nephew. Give me some credit.”

Bilbo smiled into his chamomile. “You like her,” he observed.

There was no refuting it. “She is a warrior who fought with us and for us even against the wishes of Thranduil. I can’t admire a captain of the guard who would betray her king, but I can certainly admire one who would defy all authority to defend what is right and good.”

“That was good. You ought to include that in the wedding speech.”

Bilbo dodged the last, stale scone as it sailed past his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When I was lost to madness, you found me and brought me back. Your people can not give me wealth or an army. But they gave me you. And for that, their good opinion is worth _everything_ to me.”

“Thorin, why are we out here?”

The smoke from the cook fire rose through the chill morning air into a clear blue sky. Bilbo sat wrapped in a blanket on a felled log by the fire, his hands warming around a tin cup of the strong tea Thorin favored. Thorin made noises of frustration in the tent before Bilbo saw him run barefoot to the fire through the spring snow making ridiculous high-pitched noises as he went and flailing his arms as if trying to propel himself upward. 

Bilbo laughed. Thorin grinned at Bilbo and continued with his absurd display until he’d retrieved his boots from the opposite side of the fire and joined Bilbo on his log.

Bilbo watched, entranced by the strange ritual of Thorin shaking out his boots, covering his tiny, delicate feet in warm, woolen socks before slipping them into the fur of his boots. Thorin looked up from his task and smiled widely. 

“Your feet cannot possibly be warmer for all that.”

Thorin chucked. “Allow me my illusions.”

“Seriously, Thorin, why are we out here? I enjoy a walking holiday as much as the next hobbit, but you’re freezing your pathetic little toes off and your sister is due to arrive in Erebor any day now.”

Thorin reached across Bilbo to retrieve a cup and the pot of tea from the fire. He poured himself a cup and sat back down. He blew across the cup before answering, “I suppose I’ve enjoyed these last few weeks we’ve had together. And I thought it might be a fitting end to our time here.”

Bilbo hummed into his cup of tea, unsure how to respond. 

The truth of it was, the past few weeks had been torturous in the extreme, but Bilbo was certain, from Thorin’s warm tone, they’d be one of the king’s more cherished memories of a valued friendship. Again, Bilbo castigated himself that he couldn’t think similarly upon their time together no matter how diligently he tried. But the fact remained, staying three weeks in Thorin’s opulent royal apartment had been the closest Bilbo could imagine coming to the deepest desire of his heart, all the while knowing it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last, in fact, as he would be departing for the Shire with the returning members of the Princess’s caravan.

The first night in his rooms Thorin surprised him by having Bilbo’s favorite dwarvish foods laid in, along with a rather ambitious quantity of mead. He was rather late returning from court, but the fire was warm, and Bilbo had found a rather interesting book on dwarven legends that happened to be written in Westron and he’d hardly noticed the passing of time but for Thorin’s looming figure casting a shadow onto the page he’d been reading.

Then he was surprised once more by Thorin’s insistence on helping him cook, something Bilbo enjoyed greatly, but hardly expected Thorin to partake in given his rather extensive kitchen staff.

“You forget, Bilbo, I have lived away from the mountain and it’s comforts for most of my life. Anyone who wishes to eat must know something of cooking unless they wish to become very thin or very ill,” Thorin explained.

“Yes, of course, but there is a fair difference between cooking from necessity and for the pleasure of it.”

Thorin conceded Bilbo’s point as he carefully chopped the onions placed before him. “That is true. Though I admit, I find most things more enjoyable in good company. Cooking included.”

Bilbo only hoped Thorin couldn’t see his face flush under the compliment. “You’re chopping those much too large. Try and get them a bit smaller or they’ll overpower the sauce.”

Bilbo then learned that Thorin would occasionally stick his tongue out while concentrating and was so overwhelmed with fondness it was all he could do to remember to keep his wooden spoon moving.

After supper, they sipped mead by the fire, a game board between them.

“You are _cheating_!” Bilbo cried, as Thorin bore off three more checkers. “I swear those dice must be loaded.”

Thorin only laughed. “I swear to you I’m not. If it makes you feel better, I’ve never done this well before. In fact, my brother and sister used to trounce me more often than not. Frerin especially, but Dis is a pitiless cut-throat.”

Bilbo softened, hearing Thorin speak of his family. “You must miss them a great deal.”

Thorin smiled. “Sometimes. I quite often find myself wanting to tell Frerin about you. I think you and he would have been fast friends.”

“I’m sorry I never had the pleasure. What do you suppose your sister will make of me?”

Thorin snorted.

“What was that for?”

Thorin’s expression grew embarrassed. “Let us say that before I was blessed to know you, I had a less than favorable opinion of hobbits.”

Bilbo smirked uncharitably. “Do go on.”

Thorin reddened. “My _sister_ however, served as envoy to your people on a number of occasions when it was necessary to establish trade. She spent a fair amount of time in Bree and Frogmorton. I believe she even wintered in Michel Delving one year.”

Bilbo leaned forward with interest. “Is that so? I wonder that we haven’t crossed paths before, as my cousin is Thain and often has business there. So your sister is more favorably disposed toward hobbits, is she?”

“Mmm. Yes, she often lamented that I wasn’t more sensible and hobbit-like in my thinking. Complained I spent too much time chasing after ghosts, first looking for our father then by attempting to take back Erebor when I could have been securing a more stable future for our people in the Blue Mountains.”

“But you were successful in the latter, if not the former. And, in your defense, you did have the eminent good sense to bring a hobbit with you.”

Thorin laughed and raised his glass. “Here, here.”

Bilbo toasted him and wondered how he was ever going to manage to leave.

The rest of the weeks passed in similar fashion. Domesticity that was comfortable in a way Bilbo had never experienced. Living with Thorin was so _easy_. Painfully so, when he contemplated how soon he would return to Bag End alone.

Why he wanted to take a walking trip to Mirkwood, however, was another mystery entirely.

“Thorin, please know I will remember all we have shared together for all my days. You aren’t required to take me on a rustic holiday to Mirkwood to cement your place in my memory.” 

Thorin looked off over the mountains. “I don’t wish for this to be a memory at all. Were my life my own, know that I would be quite content to go on just as we have been and just as we are now.”

Bilbo sighed inwardly. “I know.” Thinking once again of how reluctantly Thorin ruled Erebor, Bilbo chided himself for his self-pity. For goodness sake, he wasn’t a jilted lover. His dear friend was required to rule a vast kingdom. The least he could do is offer some show of solidarity. “I imagine you’ll be much less lacking in companionship when Dis arrives, though.”

Thorin avoided his gaze and suddenly Bilbo thought he knew exactly what Thorin had been thinking in bringing them half-way to the kingdom of his most loathed ally. “She’s already at the mountain, isn’t she.”

“I can explain.”

“Thorin, you haven’t seen your sister in months! She’ll think I encouraged you to avoid her, or worse, that you loathe her so much, the threat of her presence sent you running to Thranduil of all people!”

“I didn’t want you to go! Not yet! Not so soon!” Thorin explained. “Her caravan was spotted near Dale a week ahead of schedule and I panicked. I wasn’t ready for you to leave yet.”

Bilbo’s heart broke for Thorin. “ _Thorin_ , you can’t run from this forever. I must go. You have a duty to your people, and I have my duties to mine.”

“And what of our friendship? Am I to keep up a correspondence with you? And how is that meant to replace having you at my side? How am I meant to keep peace with the elves without you smoothing the way?”

Bilbo clenched his jaw. “By swallowing your pride, I imagine. Just as you’re going to do when we arrive in Thranduil’s court this afternoon.”

“We’re hours from the borders of Mirkwood!”

“Then you’d best get a move on helping me pack up our camp, hadn’t you?”

Thorin complied, sullenly.

They kept a brutal pace as they marched across the snow-dappled landscape to the woodland king’s realm. After the first hour of silence, Thorin began attempting to catch Bilbo’s eye as they went. Bilbo did not fail to notice the glances in his direction, but kept his own gaze resolutely forward. His own infatuation had gotten the best of him, but no more. Not to the detriment of the kingdom or his friend. It wasn’t fair to Thorin and it wasn’t fair to his people for Bilbo’s own selfish and unnatural desires to encourage this kind of unreasonable behavior. It was clearer than ever that Bilbo must leave, before he brought any more harm upon his friends.

The wood rose before them in green-black towers. An advanced guard of Thranduil’s emissaries were posted along the road on armored horseback.  
Their leader dismounted his steed and approached them. “Your Majesty, King Thranduil has sent us to escort you,” he said. 

Thorin looked to Bilbo before replying, “My thanks to you and your King.”

Wordlessly the guard remounted and lead the remaining guards back along the path, with Bilbo and Thorin bringing up the rear. 

Mirkwood with the benefit of an elven guard, was far less perplexing and dangerous. The journey took no more than an hour, though the sun had nearly set by the time they arrived. They were brought to Thranduil’s audience chamber, and instructed to wait. 

“Bilbo, will you not speak to me?” Thorin entreated.

Bilbo sighed. “I believe I’ve done you a grave disservice. I am sorry you do not wish to rule, but rule you must. I won’t deprive your people of their king. Please understand that.”

Thorin looked away. “I understand perfectly,” he answered, curtly.

Bilbo wanted to say more but Thranduil was announced, entering in a sweep of his silver robes. 

“King Thorin. To what do I owe the pleasure,” asked Thranduil with barely disguised disdain.

Without pause, Thorin replied “A new trade route has been proposed between Erebor and the Blue Mountains. In an effort to transport more sensitive goods in a timely fashion, it has been proposed that we should seek your aid in moving them through the Greenwood, with your able assistance, in exchange for a percentage of the traded goods.”

Thranduil looked as if he wanted to refuse outright. “Which goods are so disposed?”

“Agricultural goods from the Shire and it’s lands. Pipeweed and fruit and vegetable produce.”

“Are the lands surrounding the mountain so barren yet that you must import these things rather than entrust their growth to the ready supply of labor from Dale? I would think you of all people would be chiefly concerned with the occupation of the survivors of Esgaroth.”

Ordinarily Bilbo would have stepped in and said something, anything to defuse the situation, but he resolved himself to silence in the wake of their disagreement. Thorin looked down a moment, appearing to compose himself before replying, “Goodwill, your Majesty. And it must be added that those fields will not produce the same variety of produce in quantity for some time. In addition, the Western lands are known for the quality of their pipeweed, and I have been assured that the income from such a good offered here would be sufficient to justify its import.”

“Assured by whom?”

Thorin smiled thinly. “By Bilbo Baggins and my sister, the princess, who has frequently served as envoy to the Shire and it’s people.”

Thranduil smiled unkindly. “Hobbits. Very well. What are your terms?”

Thorin produced a scroll from his coat and handed it to the attendant who stepped down from the dais to retrieve it. “A guard of four to escort the caravan thrice yearly in both directions through the Greenwood, a share of twenty percent of the goods traded for the personal use of the King and ten percent of sales of said good to be paid annually.”

“Fifty percent of sales and no share required.”

Thorin bristled. “Fifty percent would hardly justify the expense of transport.”

Thranduil airily waved his hand. “And, as I believe this is a purposeless venture, I agree.”

“Twenty percent.”

“Forty-five.”

“ _Twenty-five_.”

Bilbo could contain his curiosity no longer. “Do you care so little for goodwill between our people?” He asked Thranduil.

Thranduil laughed uproariously. “I care little indeed, for what use are hobbits? You have nothing to offer in military might or material value. You cannot even keep your own lands, but for a contingent of rangers to prevent your annihilation. The best that can be said of you is that you bother no one. Though I suppose you make _excellent_ bedwarmers that you would be indulged to attend my court and believe you may dare address me!”

Thorin’s blade was drawn before the echo of Thranduil’s words had faded from the chamber. Orcrist pressed to Thranduil’s throat as the swords of Thranduil’s guard crossed at Thorin’s own. “You will hold your tongue on the subject of hobbits or I will remove it for you!”

Thranduil laughed, trembling the blade with his mirth. “Be gone from my sight. I’ll have no trade with hobbits or their pet Kings.”

Thranduil pushed himself into the blade of the sword, drawing a thin line of blood on his neck before backing away with an insouciant grin. He caught the blood on his finger and considered it a moment before ordering his guards to “Escort them from my realm!”

Bilbo found himself returned to the edge of the forest at the point of a blade, Thorin seething in impotent rage beside him. It was an expression so familiar to Bilbo from their quest, he almost felt nostalgic.

“Well that did not go exactly how I imagined it,” he conceded.

Thorin grunted in agreement.

“I am sorry,” Bilbo said. “But he’s right, you know. We hobbits aren’t really of much use to anyone but ourselves.”

Thorin turned to look at him, features stricken. “When I was lost to madness, you found me and brought me back. Your people can not give me wealth or an army. But they gave me you. And for that, their good opinion is worth _everything_ to me.”

Thorin began walking back to the mountain.

After a long moment, Bilbo followed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo took a moment to unravel Gandalf’s words, Thorin’s strange behavior suddenly making a great deal more sense. “You’re saying Thorin thought I was the reason he wasn’t mad anymore?”

Bilbo did not see Thorin again for four days. Though Thorin’s words at the edge of Mirkwood had seemed kind in intent, he’d not spoken to Bilbo on the return journey save but to confirm their course. Once inside the walls of Erebor, Thorin had left immediately to find his sister’s convoy and Bilbo had been left to his own devices. 

His hand slipped into the weskit pocket containing his ring. He turned it over and considered slipping it on and seeking out Thorin himself. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, however, and he was surprised to see Balin on the other side of it.

“Bilbo, Gandalf would like a word.”

“Oh, I hadn’t heard he’d arrived,” Bilbo said, a bit put out that the wizard hadn’t sought his company.

Balin nodded. “He’s been in counsel with Thorin all morning.”

That piqued Bilbo’s interest. “What about?”

Balin shrugged. “The gold sickness, I presume, but I wasn’t made privy to the discussion. They locked themselves in Thorin’s cabinet hours ago and only popped out to call for you. Dis was preparing to mount a full attack on the doors.”

“Dis—the princess—she’s not involved?”

Balin shook his head. “It wouldn’t seem so. Not that I’m surprised. They’ve been fighting like cats and dogs since you returned.”

Bilbo sighed and took down his jacket from the peg beside the door. “I’d better not keep them waiting.”

The hall outside the chamber was filled with raised voices. Thorin’s, Bilbo recognized. Gandalf as well. The other voice he took to be the princess. Fili and Kili chimed in as well, and it was just as well they arrived when they did as the few words of Khuzdul Bilbo recognized being tossed about were decidedly impolite.

As they entered, Bilbo saw Thorin and Dis exchanging heated words. Gandalf, Fili and Kili were indeed in attendance, as were a number of dwarves Bilbo did not recognize and assumed to be part of the princess’s retinue. Before he could announce his presence and attempt to diffuse the tension, however, he suddenly found himself the focus of four feet of enraged dwarrowdam.

“And you!” Dis bore down on Bilbo with pointed finger. “You are much, _much_ too skinny. I’ve never seen a hobbit so thin, what have you _done_ to him, you animals! What time is it? Have you eaten yet?”

Feeling rather wrong footed, “No, your Highness,” Bilbo replied. “I’m afraid I was a bit preoccupied.”

Dis clucked her tongue. “Too busy for second breakfast is too busy. You hobbits need to eat, or you get _sick_ and _weak_ and then who will look after my idiot brother, eh? You! _Tharrkharâb_! Get this boy some soup!”

Two of her guard nearly tripped over their beards sprinting for the kitchens.

Her deceivingly strong hand gripped his shoulder and felt as though to remove it from Bilbo’s person. “You’re a good boy, Bilbo. Don’t you mind what they’re going to say about you back home. I’ll bet you’ve got a Took or two in your family, yes?”

“My mother,” Bilbo replied.

Dis nodded, knowingly. “She’d be so proud of you,” she insisted, sitting beside Bilbo as he was shoved onto a bench, a bowl of soup and loaf of bread placed before him. “Eat. We’ll chat. And you’ll tell me all about saving my _hubma rakit_ brother and his _serej bund_ plans to get our home back.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather catch up with your sons? I know they’ve missed you a great deal.”

Dis shot Bilbo a knowing look. “Bless you for saying so, but you obviously don’t have children. Those two ingrates couldn’t get out of my sight fast enough, and where has it landed them? Nowhere any respectable dwarf would be. You’d never see Dori taking up with elves. But do they listen to their mother? Of course they don’t. I just gave birth to them and raised them all on my own. Their father, rest his soul, would be beside himself. It’s _a'lâjul_.”

Helplessly he turned to Thorin and Gandalf. “What’s going on?”

Gandalf cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, Dis, would you excuse Bilbo and I a moment?”

Thorin glared at Gandalf. “I will join you.”

Gandalf shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Thorin—”

“—If your intention is to once again disrupt his life with my interference, than I would qualify my presence as extremely necessary!”

Bilbo raised his hands. “Just...somebody please tell me what’s going on.”

Gandalf and Thorin exchanged a look before Thorin reluctantly waved him on. Gandalf smiled kindly and explained, “There has been some question over the source of the gold sickness in Thorin’s family. It has been the prevailing assumption for the past months that Thorin was able to break its thrall only through your continued presence.”

Bilbo took a moment to unravel Gandalf’s words, Thorin’s strange behavior suddenly making a great deal more sense. “You’re saying Thorin thought I was the reason he wasn’t mad anymore?” Thorin, he noticed was very determinedly not meeting his eyes.

“It was not an unreasonable assumption. It was in the Hall of Kings that I heard your voice most clearly, compelling me to recognize how I had changed. And I did,” he added, softly.

“So you see,” said Gandalf, “If you should prove to be some sort of charm against the madness why it would be paramount that Thorin would wish to keep you close.”

“He is not some bauble for me to hoard!” Thorin rebuked. “I will not keep him against his will, nor will I force myself upon him.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Thorin, I wasn’t even in Erebor when the madness broke. I...I am touched that my words were so meaningful to you, but it wasn’t any magic on my part that cured you. You cured yourself.”

Thorin shook his head. “In my shame, I threw down my crown, my armor, everything that entitled me to rule and I did it all for your good opinion.”

Bilbo smiled sadly. “And you shall always have that. No matter where I am.”

Gandalf, however, seemed now to be fixed on some other point. “I must consult with others who may have more knowledge than I. But I think, for the time being, that it is best if you do not stray far from Master Baggins.”

Gandalf now looked at Bilbo with such knowing that Bilbo’s hand strayed to his pocket without thinking, feeling the outline of the small gold band within. “The curse that lay upon the gold will remain until the treasury is diluted with other coin outside the influence of Smaug. How goes the accounting of the treasury?”

“Slowly,” decried Thorin. “Smaug amassed a hoard nearly to rival that of Thror at the height of his reign.”

Gandalf nodded. “Bilbo, I will see you before you depart. I trust that Thorin will be welcome in your home?”

Hobbit and Dwarves alike sputtered under the proclamation. 

Dis rallied first. “But what of our risk? My sons or myself? Should we fall to gold sickness while Thorin remains immune?”

Gandalf shook his head. “I do not believe you or your sons are under much risk at present. Thorin remains king, and as such, his temptation will be the greater for it. Though the madness has fled for now, I would suggest that Thorin and Bilbo remove themselves from the mountain until such time as the treasury has been depleted of it’s store of dragon gold. 

“But that could be years!” Balin cried. “You would have us without our king for so long?”

“I would not leave you unprotected, but I fear the danger from within may be greater than what might come from without if you do not take action.”

Balin, at least, needed no reminder of Thorin’s rule under the dragon sickness. “Very well. Dis, I trust you have no objection to serving as steward during Thorin’s absence?”

As Dis, Thorin and Balin hammered out the rule of the kingdom, Gandalf took Bilbo aside. 

“I know of no magic ring that should be used lightly or without care.’

Bilbo felt his heart freeze in his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There is more at play here than the natural magic of Hobbits. Keep it secret and keep it safe until I call on you next in Bag End. And I would caution strongly against wearing it, for any but the most dire of reasons.”

Bilbo nodded absently until Gandalf placed a paternal hand on his shoulder. “Do not fear, Bilbo Baggins. I have the utmost confidence in you. And should misfortune find you, you will have Thorin Oakenshield at your side.”

As Gandalf strode out of the cabinet, Bilbo looked to the dwarf in question. 

“That’s rather what I’m afraid of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:
> 
> Tharrkharâb! - Ass! (literally: donkey)
> 
> hubma rakit - arsehole (literally: bottom hollow)
> 
> serej bund - idiot (literally: empty head)
> 
> a'lâjul - shame-like or shameful


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tauriel, dear, open the door.”
> 
> Another crash was the answer. Dis grumbled, displeased, carefully removed her outer coat and handed it to Bilbo. With no more warning, she reared back and kicked the solid oak door open.

Bilbo quietly arranged the teacups on the tray, then turned the handles out, then rearranged them once more as silently as he could while he waited for the kettle to boil. It was a terrible thing to feel as though he had to sneak about where he once felt welcome. Though it had taken time, Thorin’s gilded chambers now felt as familiar to him as his own. He considered this may well be his last night in the mountain if they were indeed to leave in the morning, and that thought put a rather sentimental color on everything as well. He looked fondly upon the tea set he’d used since reclaiming the mountain, that comforted him during the worst of Thorin’s madness and allowed him the civil pretense to look after the King in his seeming despair. Bilbo snorted. If only he’d known then that it was his effect and not his company the King so desired. Oh, they were friendly, to be sure, but Bilbo had been a fool for supposing it had been anything more. 

Thorin arrived at half-eight, and for the first time since returning from the Greenwood, Bilbo didn’t hide himself in his room. Thorin, if he was surprised to find Bilbo in his sitting room, made no sign of it.

“Tea?” Bilbo offered.

Thorin smiled weakly. “Please.”

Bilbo poured and the two took seats by the fire. Bilbo focused intently on his cup and pointedly did not initiate any conversation, uncertain how welcome any overtures would be now.

“You think me deceitful,” Thorin stated, baldly. 

Bilbo was stunned silent, unsure how to respond. Of course he wanted to contradict him, but in the spirit of honesty, “I suppose so, yes.”

Thorin set his cup down. “Please understand that I value your friendship greatly. There is no deceit in my regard for you. And it is no lie that I am weary of rule, though it would perhaps be more truthful to say that I am weary of _doubt_. Of my constant fear that I may slip back into madness, that I am by my very nature unfit to rule.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “That would be why you work yourself past the point of exhaustion.”

Thorin picked up the cup and brought it to his lips. “Can you fault me?”

Bilbo sighed. “No, I suppose it’s rather understandable. And when the dragon-touched gold is gone, will you be more at ease to rule?”

Thorin huffed. “It would be a pretty poor king that didn’t abdicate to the heir that ruled the kingdom for decades in his stead.”

“And give up everything you’ve fought for?” Bilbo asked, wide eyed.

Thorin looked into the fire. “I have the loyalty of my kin and company. I have the health of my family and friends. I was too blind to see the value in those things for too long, and I’ll not make that mistake again.”

Bilbo added, “You’ve also secured the prosperity of your people.”

“And the legacy of my forefathers,” Thorin conceded. “It is no small accomplishment, you’re right. No, I can’t say that I feel as though I will be losing much at all.”

Bilbo nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I have to admit, I have...concerns, about your coming to the Shire with me.”

Thorin frowned. “Concerns?”

“The Shire is hardly the bucolic paradise you seem to take it for. And if my own words on the subject have convinced you otherwise, then I must give you fair warning. I know dwarves to be an industrious people and while we are hardly work-shy, you may find yourself bored.”

Thorin smiled. “And if I told you Dis had already contracted with a local blacksmith for me to work in their forge?”

Bilbo nearly dropped his cup in shock. “Your _sister_ got Old Noakes to take you on? _How_?”

Thorin shrugged lightly. “I suppose she wrote a cordial letter, I wasn’t privy to the details. Is it that irregular?”

Bilbo fought back the hysterical laugh that rose in his throat. “Thorin, I know you dwarves are a proud and secretive lot, but Hobbits aren’t exactly known for being accepting of outsiders.”

“I am aware, Bilbo. My people traveled through the Shire on the road to Erid Luin. We were not made particularly welcome.”

Bilbo colored with mortification. “I see.”

Thorin set down his cup and reached over to cover Bilbo’s hand where it rested on the arm of his chair. “I do not fault you for the slights of your forebears. You are more than generous in forgiving me my own, I could hardly be so churlish.”

Bilbo, flustered, fumbled his teacup and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, be that as it may, it may take some time for others to accustom themselves to the presence of a dwarf. If you hear things, or notice others avoiding you, you mustn’t think on it overmuch. Hobbits enjoy gossip and I daresay nothing happens that isn’t commented upon at length down at the inn.”

Thorin chuckled. “Then I imagine I’ll keep them quite contented in that area.”

“I wager you will. Are we to leave tomorrow then?”

Thorin looked surprised. “Did Gandalf not tell you?”

“The list of things Gandalf has neglected to tell me could fill a book,” replied Bilbo, irritably.

“In order to accommodate our leaving, Kili and Tauriel have agreed to be wed on the morrow. You have a set of formal clothes in the receiving room for the occasion.”

“When on earth was this decided?”

“Earlier today. Will it be a problem for you to stand for Tauriel?”

“I barely know the girl.”

“Yes, but she has no kin and better a hobbit than a dwarf, I’d wager.”

“I take your point. What is my role, then? Do I give her away or some such?”

Thorin looked askance at him. “ _Give her away_ , honestly are all other races so backwards? No, it is your duty to see that she is properly honored by my family, that the contract is in order and that she has recourse should she wish to dissolve the contract.”

Bilbo thought that sounded rather straightforward and sensible. Also rather brief. “How long will the ceremony last?”

“Five minutes. Rarely more than ten.”

“Good heavens!”

“The feast, however, lasts a good deal longer. I believe the last wedding feast I attended ended after two days, although to be fair, Gloin’s family has always been ostentatious.”

“TWO DAYS?”

“The feast will last no more than one. Likely Kili and Tauriel will retire after several hours and we may depart then.”

Bilbo calmed. “Well that’s not so outrageous. Shire weddings last between twenty minutes to an hour and the party generally lasts the rest of the day. Two days would be quite the party.”

Thorin grinned. “Oh, it was. Dwalin nearly went blind.”

The rest of the evening passed in fond remembrances of drunken debauchery past. Bilbo couldn’t say that he was entirely at ease with Thorin, but he did feel as though perhaps things had not been so irreparably damaged between them.

 

The next morning dawned, presumably. Without windows, Bilbo only woke to the sound of Thorin moving about in the next room. By the time he’d completed his ablutions, the dwarf was entirely absent from the suite. Bilbo was uncertain whether he ought to track someone down to tell him when and where he should be, when there came a sharp rap on the door and Dis popped her head around the doorjam.

“Are you decent?” She chirped.

“I am, yes. Sorry, what time is it and when is the wedding?”

Dis’s face fell at the sight of him. “You’re not dressed!”

“Well, not yet, no, but—”

“The wedding is in twenty minutes! _Mahal zai abrâl_! Get your clothes on!”

Bilbo groaned and snatched up the package with his clothes. An impressively short while later he was dressed in the dwarven costume and presented himself to Dis for inspection. She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “You look very fine, Bilbo but something is missing. Ah, here we are,” she said, removing several silver clasps from the folds of her gown and fastening them into Bilbo’s hair. “Now you’re dressed.”

He tugged at the collar of his heavy, velvet coat. “Is it supposed to be this tight?”

Dis hummed sympathetically. “I’m afraid so. But you can always change before the feast.”

As they passed his old suite, he heard a scream and a crash from within. With barely a glance for his escort he pounded on the door. “Tauriel? Are you alright?” He shouted. When no answer was forthcoming, Dis stepped forward.

“Tauriel, dear, open the door.”

Another crash was the answer. Dis grumbled, displeased, carefully removed her outer coat and handed it to Bilbo. With no more warning, she reared back and kicked the solid oak door open. Inside the suite, Tauriel sat in her customary garb, though somewhat worse for the wear, surrounded by a sea of broken crystal, pottery and other wedding gifts also somewhat worse for the wear.

“Didn’t like the crockery, my dear?” Asked Dis, glibly.

“I can’t do this!” she replied. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Dis looked taken aback. “Is it my son you object to?”

Tauriel shook her head. “No, not Kili. I love him with all that I am.”

“Then it is his family you object to?”

Tauriel tugged at her hair. “It is this cursed pageantry! To be paraded in front of an entire kingdom who wishes for nothing more than my abject humiliation if not my death!”

“Now that’s a bit extreme,” Bilbo countered.

“Is it?” Tauriel fired back, thrusting a note at him. “This was slipped under my door only this morning.”

The note, laced heavily with profanity declared both elf and her child an abomination and wished death upon them both.

“Oh my,” said Bilbo.

“Give it here,” said Dis, angrily. “Dwalin will have the _Shekâl_ strung up by sundown and this filth shoved in whatever orifice is most convenient. Kili has promised you and your child the protection of our kin and people. That is not an empty promise. Bilbo, please see to Tauriel. I must take this to Dwalin at once.”

Bilbo shook himself in surprise. “Me? What? Wouldn’t you be more suited to—”

“You are standing for Tauriel in place of her kin. I’m sorry, but if this isn’t resolved immediately the marriage contract will demand to be nullified. We can hardly expect her to join herself to our family if we do not take such threats seriously.”

Before Bilbo could protest, Dis left him alone with Tauriel. “Here, now, I’m sure it will be fine. Where is your gown? The wedding will be underway shortly, I imagine,” he babbled.

“I won’t wear it,” she declared.

“Why ever not?”

Tauriel withdrew the enormous gown from her bedroom. It was twice the length of Bilbo, seemed to be made entirely of golden thread and encrusted with what he could only presume to be diamonds, sapphires and emeralds. “Well, that’s certainly...good heavens. Well. My goodness,” he said, at a loss for how to categorize such an extravagant item.

“I’ll look ridiculous in all this. Everyone will speak of how I’m dressing above my station.”

Bilbo made a noise of disagreement. “Technically, this is your station now. You are marrying a prince, after all. Best just put it on and be done with it, yes?”

“I don’t see why I must humiliate myself at all. I am already carrying his child, what more assurance of my fidelity would he require?” She added, fingering a bit of embroidery at the cuff of the gown.

“As I understand, the purpose is not to extract a promise of fidelity from you, but to formalize the agreement between you so that you have the assurance of his family that you will be treated well and taken care of.”

“I’m six hundred years old, I can take care of myself and I won’t go through with any farce of a ceremony that would declare otherwise!”

“You would deny Kili the honor of marrying you according to the traditions of his people?”

“This is absurd! We are already married, I don’t see the point of this!”

Bilbo could barely think over the pounding of his headache, exacerbated by the scratch of heavy embroidery upon the high collar he wore. He was far too _hot_ in all this damned velvet and he could feel the sweat beginning to pool at the base of his spine. With every stroppy refusal to dress he was more and more tempted to simply thump her and be done with it all.

“ _Tauriel_. A battalion of dwarves have been working around the clock for a week to craft this gaudy, overdone monstrosity. You wed a dwarf of the royal line. He’s not asking you to become a dwarrowdam. He’s asking you to wear this bloody dress for a few lousy hours to please the kingdom.”

“It’s too hot and I get sick when I’m hot! I fail to see how vomiting on the line of Durin is going to endear me to Kili’s people!”

Bilbo grit his teeth. “So wear it to the ceremony and change before the feast.”

“No.”

“It’s only five bloody minutes!”

“Which is why it shouldn’t matter what I wear.”

Bilbo sighed and sank into the chair, tossing the heavy wedding gown to the side. “Are you trying to prolong this nightmare? Thorin and I agreed to stay so that he could properly bless your union. If you don’t do this today, Kili isn’t going to have his uncle at his wedding and he’s going to be devastated. If you care for him half as much as you claim to, you can do this one thing for him.”

Tauriel cut her eyes away and started crying. 

Bilbo panicked, stood and began to flutter around her. “Oh, oh, no, no, don’t do that! Stop! No, no, no, Tauriel, don’t do that. Please, stop.” 

Bilbo felt absurd cradling the elf over twice his size, but couldn’t refuse her as Tauriel wept into his chest. “I don’t want to be a princess. I didn’t want to be a princess when Legolas was making moon eyes at me, and I don’t want to be one now. I’m a sylvan elf! I know two things: Archery and drinking. What do I know of marriage and motherhood?”

Bilbo patted her shoulder. “What’s done is done, my dear. You are wed and you are going to be a mother. But, if it’s any consolation, Kili is exceedingly fond of archery and drinking and likely knows as much as you do on the subjects of marriage and parenting so you’ll be well matched. Look,” he thought to add. “You have something here that not many people can claim.”

“My weight in gold sewn into a wedding gown?”

Bilbo chuckled. “A family to help you. I know she’s a bit much, but Dis did very well raising her boys all on her own in the Blue Mountains. And you’ll have all the company and their wives and children. And your friends?” he tried. Tauriel shook her head. Bilbo frowned and took Tauriel’s hands. “Your friends that you will make in the mountain, then. They’ll help you. I know dwarves can be as blunt as a sack of hammers, but they do mean well.”

Tauriel squeezed his hands. “I know. They’ve taken me in and made me welcome in their way which is far more than I can say for my own kin.”

Bilbo snorted. “Mine as well. So chin up, eh? I’ve been wearing this awful coat for ages now and I’d very much like to get this over with.”

Tauriel agreed with a weak smile which fell quite suddenly as she reached for the nearest waste basket and became quite sick.

Bilbo sighed. “Oh, I do love a wedding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:
> 
> Mahal zai abrâl! — Mahal on a cracker! (I couldn't resist!)
> 
> Shekâl — Coward


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It doesn’t have to be forever, you know. If you like, we can return as soon as the danger is past. Is there something here you’d like to bring?”
> 
> Thorin shook his head, either in answer to Bilbo or some internal prompting. “No,” he said. Thorin gave the remarkably well-preserved study one last fond look, then turned to Bilbo with a smile. “I have all I need.” The door shut behind them with finality.
> 
> “Let’s go.”

Erebor’s prisons were located down an old tunnel off the deepest and darkest unused mine, long since spent of it’s treasures. It was only accessible by a long, thin, winding bridge of rock that spanned the seemingly bottomless cavern with no handrails or guards of any sort. There were no torches here, only the lamp carried by the guard to tend to the prisoners. Should a prisoner escape, they would have only their stone sense and memory to aid them in navigating the treacherous road.

Prisoners occasionally went missing from their cells in Erebor, but none ever escaped.

Bilbo was terrified.

He lacked the keen eyesight of his dwarf companions that could see much further ahead the road than he by the dim light of the single lamp he carried. As it was, Bilbo had to keep very near the light and always watch his feet lest he tumble over into the abyss.

“Not much further now, Bilbo, steady on,” said Nori. A bit of rock gave way under his foot and it was only the timely hand of Dwalin on his shoulder that saved him from falling. 

“That’ll need shoring up,” Dwalin commented, absently.

Less than an hour before, only moments after Kili and Tauriel had signed their contract in Thorin’s cabinet room, Nori had appeared and begun to confer with Dwalin in hushed tones. Dis and Thorin shared a significant look before she shepherded the couple in the direction of the party.

“Report,” said Thorin, when they had gone.

Dwalin stood at attention. “I’ve been informed that the dwarf responsible for the threats against the princess has been detained.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear,” said Bilbo, quite relieved. 

Nori sighed forcefully. Thorin’s turned to him. “You disagree?”

“Not if we’ve nabbed the right dwarf, but he’s not been questioned yet an’ I won’t be responsible for puttin’ an innocent man in prison!”

“Dwalin?” asked Thorin.

Dwalin shifted. “It’s him, your Majesty. I knew ‘im back in Erid Luin and he’s one o’ them types to raze Azanulbizar to spite the name of Celebrimbor. Or he was, before he took off for the Iron HIlls.”

Thorin made a noise of comprehension. “All the same, Nori is right. If such an aversion to elves were proof enough of guilt, I ought to be in irons alongside most of our kin. Bilbo,” Thorin turned to address him. “I trust that you will see it done?”

“Me?” Asked Bilbo. “I thought Nori and Dwalin were handling it.”

“Aye,” replied Dwalin. “We’ll take care of the dirty work, but it’s your right as Tauriel’s agent to ensure that justice is served on her behalf.”

Bilbo paled slightly, unable to avoid a reflexive glance at Dwalin’s knuckledusters. “I see. Yes, well, I suppose it must be done.”

Thorin smiled in what Bilbo was sure was meant to be reassurance. “I wouldn’t worry. Dwalin and Nori are the very best at what they do. I’m sure they’ll have an admission of guilt in plenty of time for you to enjoy the party.”

It wasn’t an encouraging sentiment in Thorin’s cabinet, and it certainly wasn’t any more so now that Bilbo was faced with the mocking laughter of the dwarf behind the iron bars.

“Ooh, come to rough me up, ‘ave you? I know who _you_ are, Bilbo _Baggins_!” The dwarf chortled. At that moment, Nori and Dwalin stepped into the circle of light cast by Bilbo’s lantern and the dwarf cursed and spat before scurrying back from the bars.

“Now you just keep away from me, you hear? I’m a citizen of the Iron Hills, I am, and I know my rights!”

Bilbo frowned. “If you’ve nothing to confess, then you’ve nothing to fear from Dwalin.” 

The dwarf’s eyes widened. “It ain’t _him_ I’m worried about! You just keep him well away from me, you understand?”

“What, Nori?” Bilbo asked. But as he turned to the dwarf in question, he saw something of a manic glint in his eye as he shrugged in seeming innocence. “Very well, Dwalin, he’s all yours.”

Dwalin stepped forward as Bilbo moved aside. “Tell me about the letter,” he demanded, cracking his knuckles for effect. The dwarf laughed delightedly.

Nori leaned down and whispered in Bilbo’s ear, “I think you’re going to have to question him. He’s not half mad from the looks of him an’ he’s clearly not working on his own. He’s too happy to be here.”

Bilbo nodded in understanding. “Dwalin,” he interrupted. “Mind if I have a word with the prisoner?”

Dwalin looked to Nori then waved Bilbo on. “Be my guest.”

“Thank you,” he said, stepping forward into the cell. “My it’s awfully dank in here, isn’t it. Now I’m sorry about all this, but we really do need to know who sent that note to the princess.”

The dwarf laughed, darkly. “Like my little love note, did she?”

Bilbo smiled, gamely. “It was received in the spirit it was intended, I believe. So you did send it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” said the dwarf. “I’m where I’m meant to be, _Bilbo Baggins of the Shire_. You, on the other hand, are awfully far from home, aren’t you?”

“You know an awful lot about me and I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

The dwarf laughed uproariously. “Oh, the _manners_ , on ‘im! With your pompous airs and prissy soft clothes and tiny little holes built of wood that _burn so easy_. Oh, we know _all_ about you.”

Bilbo’s smile faltered only slightly. “ _We_ , you say? Well I never expected to be so well known, I’m flattered.”

“You should be, that Himself has taken special interest.”

Bilbo felt a shiver go up his spine. “You don’t say. Was the note his idea, then?”

The dwarf shook his head. “No, those words came from the bottom of my heart, I tell you true. Still, it all ended up for the best, I’d say.”

Bilbo hummed. “I wouldn’t say that. After all, you’re locked up in here. That can’t be very nice.”

The dwarf giggled then fast as a shot, seized Bilbo by the cravat and brought his blackened lips in line with his ear. “When _He_ comes, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else!”

Bilbo pulled himself free and backed quickly out of the cell, allowing Dwalin to shut and lock the cell door.

“Well? What do you reckon?” asked Dwalin.

Bilbo struggled to catch his breath. “It was him, alright. But—” he trailed off, trying to shake the cold that seemed to penetrate even his thick, dwarven tunic. “—but I think Nori is right. Either he’s barking mad or he’s not acting alone. He _wants_ to be here.”

Nori rubbed his forehead. “That’s never good. And awful interested in you as well, I mark.”

“You don’t think Dain is behind this, do you?” Asked Dwalin.

Nori gave a very humorless laugh. “Not likely. I offered to spy for him once when I got pinched for nicking a few things up his way. He asked me ‘What for? I need to know something, I ask.’”

Dwalin started laughing. “That was you? I heard that story! So this one asks him, ‘And if they aren’t given to tell the truth?’ And Dain says—”

“‘—Then I’ll know their intent by the knife at my throat and they’ll know mine by the sword through their entrails!’” Nori finished with a shake of his head as Bilbo and Dwalin laughed, and if it felt at all desperate or forced, they kept it to themselves.

“I’ll set a guard on round-the-clock watch,” assured Dwalin. 

“I don’t reckon you’ll need to if his orders were to get himself captured. It’s not natural an’ I don’t like how he was so keen on Bilbo,” Nori muttered. To Bilbo he added, “Maybe have a word with Gandalf?”

Dwalin rolled his eyes, but Bilbo saw the sense of it. “If there’s something off about this he’d be likely to know,” he agreed.

“All right. You talk to the wizard. I’ll still put a couple men down here and we’ll all be satisfied, yes?” asked Dwalin. Bilbo and Nori nodded their agreement. “Then it’s sorted. Now back to the party. I know of at least ten buggers up there owe me a drink and I aim to collect.”

 

They returned nearly an hour or so into the wedding party. Every reveler was well in their cups and most had a drink in hand. Dwalin made straight for the barrels and Bilbo watched as he was given one of the most enormous tankards of ale he’d ever seen, and Bilbo once drank with the big folk in Bree as a tween. Thorin, he saw, had been given his own, his eyes closed as he drank deeply. With no small amount of pride, Bilbo requested his own half pint and made his way over to the king. Bombur brought him a plate of food saved back from the feast and Bilbo ate while Thorin drank. Eventually Thorin came up for air and Bilbo attempted to find a topic of conversation that would somehow bridge the levity of the situation with the horror of the previous hour. That subject presented itself as Bilbo finally had a moment to survey the great room and the merry making within. Behind the cover of his mug and Thorin’s own personal cask of ale he muttered, “Before we leave, we need to talk about over-delegating.”

A group of musicians assembled on the arcade above began a fast tune. Tables were quickly pushed to the sides of the hall and most of the guests began to dance. Kili led Tauriel, now changed into clothing far more to her comfort and liking, onto the floor and began the steps of a dance between a jig and a reel, Bilbo thought. Taurel seemed to follow quite well and the onlookers began clapping in time with the footwork.

Thorin smiled, pleased, as he watched several firebeard cousins swinging wildly from the chandelier. “What do you mean? I think the party is going splendidly.”

Bilbo smirked. “Yes, well, while I’m sure every effort was made to accommodate Tauriel’s heritage, I feel I would be remiss as her agent if I didn’t mention the complete lack of anything remotely elven happening here.”

“Bombur did his best on short notice. I can’t fault him for that.”

Bilbo shook his head. “The sprouts were fine. Perhaps the boar drippings might have been a bit rich, but they were very tasty—and entirely beside the point, which I suspect you knew! Are you always going to attempt evasion by distracting me with talk of food?”

“That depends. Is it always going to work?” 

Bilbo ignored his teasing. “It’s not that it’s a bad party. By no means!” Bilbo qualified. Tauriel was laughing delightedly upon the dais, having given up dancing to judge the drinking contest taking place between Dwalin and Dain, while glancing over occasionally to the dancing where Kili was now being repeatedly tossed into the air by a group of dwarves led by Bofur and Gloin. “I only wonder, do you suppose she can be happy here indefinitely, set apart as she is?”

Bifur had begun leading the children in a circle around the outside of the dancing. Despite his impairment, Bilbo noticed how the little ones flocked to the toymaker, dancing gleefully after him, weaving in and out of the other dancers with shrieks of laughter.

Thorin looked intently at Bilbo. “Dwarves are as unchanging as the stone from which we were made. Our poets do the subject better justice than I, but our love is often likened to water, flowing endlessly and unceasingly, soft, yes, but with power beyond any other to move and carve the stone of our selves. Dwarves may not hold elves in high esteem, no, but we have more respect for love than you might imagine.”

“You think they’ll make an effort for her sake and for Kili’s?”

Thorin gestured to the room. “Haven’t they already? I hear the archery contest was well received, and how often do you supposed dwarves decorate their halls with greenery?”

Bilbo let out a startled laugh. “You mean the score of trees propped against the walls and lashed to the pillars?”

“The elves’ love of their forests are legend.”

“They still have the roots on.”

“So they can be replanted after the party, naturally. What elf would see trees cut down for their own aesthetic enjoyment?”

Bilbo laughed in spite of himself. “Do forgive me. I shall never doubt you again.”

“I hope never to give you cause,” Thorin replied, softly. At that moment a great crash sounded as the dwarves fell from the chandelier in a great tangle of limbs and red beard upon the table. There was a great deal of cursing and shouting and what looked to be a melee beginning. “I better go sort this,” he apologized. With a loud Khuzdul shout, Thorin stomped off toward the brawling dwarves.

“Bilbo!” Bilbo looked up to see Bofur waving him over to the dancefloor. With a reluctant sigh, Bilbo made his way through the crush of onlookers to Bofur’s side. “Come on and give us a dance.”

“What, with you?” Bilbo asked, laughing.

Bofur feigned offense. “What, too good for the likes of me now that you’re palling around with His Highness over there?”

“Of course I am,” Bilbo deadpanned.

“Too right you are,” Bofur agreed. “But maybe you could see your way past it just this once, on account of taking yourself halfway across the world from my substandard company.”

Bilbo laughed. “Lead on then,” he said, and gestured to the floor. Bofur grinned from ear to ear and took hold of his sleeve, dragging him into a familiar set dance. He spun and twirled with half the company until he was quite breathless. He and Bofur finally collapsed on the nearest bench, after taking drinks from a passing tray. “I will miss you. All the company, of course, but you’ve been a true friend to me and I’ve not had many of those.”

Bofur gave him a soft and sincere look before pecking Bilbo gently on the lips. Bilbo blushed to the tip of his ears. “Oh, I know, I know,” said Bofur. “Your heart isn’t yours to give, and I’ll not having you thinking my friendship ever came with strings attached, because all that you just said goes double for me. I’ve not had many friends, Bilbo Baggins, but I count you among the best. Still, all the same, I couldn’t let you leave without trying it on.” He gave a rakish wink and Bilbo immediately felt at ease.

“You’re always welcome in the Shire if things get lonely here, or you want a change of pace. Bifur too, you know.”

Bofur smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes that time. “I appreciate the offer, Bilbo, but all the same, I think I’ll be staying. Who knows, young dwarf like me in my prime, my One could be right around the corner.”

Bilbo once again found himself humbled in the face of Bofur’s unfailing optimism and kindness. “They’re out there. I know it,” Bilbo assured him. Bofur brought their foreheads together once, gently and Bilbo heard a small hitch in his breath before he released his grip and stood. “You’ll write, won’t you?” Bilbo asked, and Bofur nodded tightly before making his way to his brother’s side. Bombur glanced his way with a sad smile and Bilbo wondered, not for the first time, that such matters would be so tolerated among dwarves as to be discussed openly.

It would have felt cruel to scold Bofur for his mistake, and churlish to be defensive in the face of his brave confession. All the same, what transpired in Erebor between friends would needs must remain there. Bilbo would have to take better care that he not give others the wrong idea in the Shire.

 

Bilbo woke in a cold sweat the morning of their departure. Shaking off the vestiges of troubled dreams he silently donned his new dressing gown and made his way to the hearth where the fire had only recently been laid. He filled the kettle, hand shaking as he hung it above the fire.

Dreams of the battle as it was never haunted him, but rather imaginings of what might have been. He’d lost count of how many times and in how many ways he’d seen Thorin cut down, seen Fili and Kili murdered by orcs, seen Bofur lying pale and bloodless upon the ground. Bilbo saw Dwalin’s great strength stilled in death and the company dead on the field, and every night he was powerless to stop it. He’d been lucky in that battle, but to Bilbo it felt like a cheat somehow. In some way, he supposed he still expected a reckoning to come and right the world, steal his victory away from him in some other fashion. And though he would not countenance such fruitless worries by day, by night his fears always took on greater substance.

“You’re up early,” commented Thorin from the doorway. “Is your sleep still troubled?”

Bilbo busied himself with the tea things. “I suppose so,” he admitted.

Thorin poured himself a cup and sat in his customary seat before the fire. “I still revisit Azanulbizar from time to time. I don’t suppose there are any who truly see battle who can remain unaffected. Dwalin used to have the worst screaming night terrors, used to fight and lash out in his sleep. I suppose he must have stopped at some point before the quest, though I would be much surprised if he slept soundly now.”

“Is there no help for it?”

“Time. Time and distance. Bilbo, I feel I must ask, is it the ramparts you dream of?”

Bilbo, momentarily surprised, stammered, “No, no of course not. Well I shouldn’t say of course, because, after all. it was a terrible thing, but you were hardly to blame for being ill. No, um, it was Ravenhill. It’s nearly always Ravenhill,” he confessed.

“You fought well.”

“I rather did, yes, but not quite so successfully in my dreams.”

If Thorin was surprised at that, he gave no sign. “Ah, I see.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Yes, so onto other, more pleasant topics, are you quite packed?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Bilbo smiled. “I know I come off a bit house proud—” Thorin choked on his tea. Bilbo pretended not to notice. “—but I would like you to feel comfortable. It will be your home as well for the foreseeable future.”

Thorin stared at him. “I was think of inlaying the Arkenstone in the lid of your mother’s glory box.”

“It really is quite tragic that your sense of humor didn’t survive the battle. I’ll have Ori compose a verse in memory.”

“I have everything I could want, and probably a bit more besides. I should be asking if there is anything you’d like to bring to remember your journey—beside your very fine acorn, I should say. I know you’ve made yourself quite clear that you have little need for treasure—”

Bilbo straightened suddenly, remembering. “Actually I’ve been meaning to speak with you about that. Would I have leave to take a share from the treasury?”

Thorin was clearly not expecting his change of heart. His cup landed rather forcefully in his saucer. “You want treasure now?”

Bilbo shrugged. “It’ll nearly be my birthday when we arrive in the shire and it’ll save me the trouble of finding mathoms for everyone.”

With seeming relief, Thorin laughed. “Help yourself. And I do mean that.”

They continued their companionable conversation, chasing away the shadows of Bilbo’s dreams until at last they could delay no longer, taking time to dress and make their final pass through the rooms to catch any stray item left behind by mistake. 

Ori knocked on the door shortly before elevensies and Bilbo recruited him to help fill a chest from the treasury. “Shall I meet you at the gates?” Bilbo asked.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like very much if you would be present when I pass the crown to Fili,” Thorin asked. 

Bilbo smiled. “Of course. I’ll come to the throne room when I’m finished.”

There was an odd weight to their parting, he felt, but little time to think on it as he and Ori made their way to the treasury.

 

The room itself was not quite the mountain of gold and gems it once was. Most of the coin had been counted and moved into chests and certain of the more valuable pieces had found other homes around the palace. Many of the gems were with the jewelers guild for setting, and a fair bit of everything had been spent in the repair of Dale. 

Now however, Bilbo frowned, half buried in a pile of gold coins, cups and assorted treasures not yet accounted for. “No, no, this is all too dear. Mathoms are curiosities, not stonking great gems as big as my fist!”

Ori looked up from a smaller chest of cloak pins, holding one aloft. “This one’s a bit simpler. How’s this?”

Bilbo glared at Ori. “Is that an emerald?”

Ori shrugged. “It’s not particularly well cut.”

Bilbo relented. “Throw it in the chest.”

Ori smiled. “Won’t your family and friends be excited to have gifts from Erebor?”

Bilbo hummed to himself as he turned over a pile of treasures. “More likely they’re going to complain about the cost and lack of business given to local merchants and craftsmen. Here now, that’s not bad,” he said. “Lovely brass soup tureen.” He held it aloft for Ori to take note of the value.

Ori frowned. “That’s a chamber pot.”

Bilbo tossed to to Ori. “Not anymore.”

 

Fili’s installation as Prince Regent was a brief ceremony, as Bilbo was coming to understand was customary of the most important occasions among dwarves, and attendance was limited to the royal family, Thorin’s closest advisors, kin, and the company, who occupied their own honored position in the court. Bilbo and Ori watched with the others as Dis gently removed the crown from Thorin’s head and placed it onto Fili’s as Balin pronounced him regent. As everyone queued before the throne to pledge fealty to Fili, Bilbo found Thorin in a small vestibule off the throne room.

“Thorin, Gandalf and the wagons will be waiting for us,” he reminded him, not unkindly.

Thorin’s hand traced the spines of several volumes of dwarven law on an ornately gilded shelf. “I was making my final farewells. I used to play here during my grandfather’s audiences as a boy. When I was older, I had lessons in this room.”

Bilbo wrung his hands a bit. “It doesn’t have to be forever, you know. If you like, we can return as soon as the danger is past. Is there something here you’d like to bring?”

Thorin shook his head, either in answer to Bilbo or some internal prompting. “No,” he said. Thorin gave the remarkably well-preserved study one last fond look, then turned to Bilbo with a smile. “I have all I need.” The door shut behind them with finality.

“Let’s go.”


End file.
